Walk the Wire
by Jasnah
Summary: Once again, Snake tries to get ahold of Kaitou Kid. And this time, it's going to get close for Kid, dangerously close. This time, his "no one gets hurt" rule backfires.


_**Wednesday  
April 12, 20xx**_

The packet lies on his desk, on a tall stack of folders that's waiting for him to get processed. It's 15 inches deep, ten inches wide and ten inches high, and wrapped in innocently white kraft paper held by two plain crossed elastic bands. Very normal and very mundane, right under his nose and yet so perfectly adapted to its environment that Nakamori forgets about it the moment he spots it. In this respect it has a lot in common with the boy who delivered it.

When Nakamori finally grabs the packet and turns it to identify the addressor, it's already late afternoon. He discovers the infamous Kaitou Kid doodle grinning at him with all its malice and feels how a certain vein on his forehead starts to throb painfully. "Kiiiiiiid!" He's yelling loud enough to startle the officer in the bureau next door who promptly spills his coffee over his new computer screen.

And now Takishima Nawaki has a problem: He's the youngest and latest member of the Kaitou Kid task force, and therefore the questionable honor to open the packet falls into his area of responsibility. There are good reasons for this unpleasant task to be forced on the weakest link of the pecking order. Namely: glitter, glue, stink bombs, glitter, non-washable color, lingerie, lively frogs, glitter, fireworks, hungry grasshoppers, chicken feathers (preferably combined with aforementioned glue) and – just in case he hadn't mentioned it already – lots of glitter.

Takishima stares at the packet as if it's a lurking cobra, ready to sink its teeth into his flesh. He takes a deep breath and decides to get over with it as fast as possible. It's too late to retreat anyway. A colleague had suggested using a protective suit and a helmet, but he'd refused. He isn't _that_ pathetic. He prefers enduring this humiliation with as much dignity as possible rather than hiding behind a ridiculous suit.

All right, then. Holding his breath, he pulls the elastic bands from the packet. The white paper folds up and reveals a nondescript white carton. Once again, Takishima takes a deep breath, before the removes the lid. A bonfire of prismatic colors erupts in front of his eyes: confetti. Confetti everywhere, in the air, in his hair, on the table, the floor, the shelf on the wall. Takishima runs a hand through his hair, letting the confetti trickle down. He's waiting for the big bang, for something extraordinary to happen. Minutes pass. Takishima wrinkles his forehead in disbelief. Confetti – that's nothing compared to all the horror stories he had heard. Wasn't there something else?

His colleagues who'd gathered like vultures in front of the glass window inside the door are as baffled as him, if he judges their disbelieving faces correctly. Takishima approaches the carton to catch a glimpse of its insides. A card lies underneath the layer of confetti, obviously a new heist announcement.

Now his colleagues are rolling in. Some of them don't even bother to hide their disappointment. Nakamori-keibu isn't disappointed however. He's grinning triumphantly, as if he had had the courage to open the carton. "Ha," he says, "are you running out of ideas, Kid? Confetti, my ass!"

And then, as if fate decides to punish Nakamori for his big mouth, noises start to resonate from the carton, strangely rhythmic coughing and spluttering noises. Bewildered, Nakamori asks "What the hell is that?"

"Um ..." Amano Josuke, a policeman in his thirties, pipes up. "That sounds like a beat box." He knows the sound because of his son who had developed a thing for hip-hop music some weeks ago, much to Amano's chagrin.

Nakamori opens his mouth to ask what a beat box is, but the change of the sound distracts him. Now, it sounds as if someone drags the needle of a record player too fast above a record's groove. Shortly afterwards he hears a long-drawn, electronically distorted word: "Remix". The officers exchange puzzled stares.

And then the music starts – it's not the kind of music Nakamori likes – and _then _he hears something that causes his blood to run cold: his own voice, electronically distorted, but still recognizable. Somehow, Kid had managed to cut recordings of him together and put it into the music until it sounded like he was singing to the music. But what he's singing – if one could call it "singing" anyhow – is not for the squeamish. It's a collection of cusses. "Bastard – son of a bitch – motherfucker!" resonates from the carton, and Nakamori feels his face turning darker and darker with every passing word.

"Arrrrgh!" Nakamori plunges forward like an angry rhino. He grabs the carton and shakes it violently; the announcement sails to the ground harmlessly, followed by the origin of this devilish music, a small tape player. In his anger, Nakamori tramples on the player, but to no avail. The music goes on, undeterred.

"Kid", Nakamori yells in helpless rage. "You-"

"Idiot," it helpfully sounds from the recorder.

His men watch in embarrassed silence how he tries to open the player, how he kicks it through the office, how he once again tramples on it. All his attempts are doomed to failure, he could not open or destroy the recorder, and the music runs on as if in mockery, revealing all sorts of curse words that had escaped his mouth throughout his career.

Eventually, he comes to the conclusion that it's better to just wait until the music stops by itself. At least, he doesn't have to wait for too long: After four minutes of agony the nightmare is over. The tape ends with an announcement: "This was the Nakamori-Remix by Nakamori Ginzo!" (Nakamori can downright see the mocking grin on the bastard's face.) "Caution, the content is not suitable for audiences under 16 years! That goes for you as well, Tantei-kun, bwahaha!" (Nakamori facepalmes. Seriously, what's all this crap? He assumes that Kid means the Mori brat, but the child isn't even here.)

When the record ends with an audible click, the room is filled with an eerie silence. Nakamori is positive that even the strumming of a paper clip on the linoleum floor would be audible now. He takes a deep breath. For a brief moment it looks as if he wants to start cursing again, but only a low hiss escapes his mouth. He sounds like an old car tire which loses its air.

"Let's read the new riddle," he says wearily.

* * *

_**Saturday  
April 15, 20xx**_

There's no doubt about one thing: Shinichi has a good sense for danger that's beyond normal. It's difficult to understand for a rational thinking person like him, and even more difficult to explain to other people, but he can't deny that he's gifted with a very strange yet useful ability. He won't trust his instincts blindly – that would be foolish – but he trusts them to a certain degree, and often enough his instincts had saved his bacon while his intellect alone wouldn't have.

And right now, at 21:48 PM, twelve minutes before the announced heist, his instincts are yelling _danger_ at him with all their might, blinking green neon letters inclusive. And maybe he's just imagining things, but it seems as if he's not the only one who feels it.

Nakamori is unusually quiet for his standards and moves in circles around the display case that contains Kid's newest target, like a caged tiger. Some officers are tapping their toes, others let their eyes wander around the room in evident tension. Shinichi hears the rustle of clothing and suppressed coughs now and then. There's an unmistakable uneasy atmosphere; Shinichi feels it crawling underneath his skin, feels the air in the museum prickle as if it's filled with an unnatural static which could be discharged at the slightest unexpected movement.

He hears the frantic screams of the fan base that had gathered in front of the museum's gate too, though it's muffled to a low murmur. Ran and Sonoko are there, and by the thought of Ran he feels a familiar sting of remorse, because he'd once again slipped away from her watchful eyes. The fact that she's used to that habit of him now doesn't change the fact that she still worries about him.

21:57 PM. Still, his instincts are reporting danger, but he can't make out the source of it.

21:59 PM. The tension in the exhibition room is almost palpable.

22:00 PM. There's an electric buzzing, and the entire museum sinks into darkness – Kid must've cut off the power supply.

Nakamori's voice bellows: "Don't activate the emergency generator! It's a trap!"

"Oh, really?!" replies the museum director's voice. "Are you sure you aren't Kid who tries to confuse us?"

Within seconds, an uncoordinated scuffle breaks loose, but the scramble can't drown out the sound of breaking glass completely. Shinichi activates the night vision function of his glasses and discovers Kid standing on the display case. He's already got a hold of his recent target, an outsized diamond ring named _Sunlight Spark_ that's popular for its tangerine sparkle in the sunlight.

When he feels Shinichi's eyes on his back, Kid turns around and winks at him. And then, with a flash of smoke, he vanishes.

_What the hell, he's going already? _The whole stunt was far below Kid's normal standards, which does not help to reduce Shinichi's uneasiness. He gets a glimpse of a fluttering cape and twirls – Kid's heading for the next door –

Shinichi starts to run, but it's apparent that he won't reach the thief in time. He pulls a new gadget out of his pocket – some kind of pistol that enables him to shoot his tracking devices at his targets from greater distance. He pulls the trigger, Kid pulls the door open, Nakamori and his men are still wrestling and shouting, the tracker hurtles through the air, Kid takes a step, the tracker hits the sole of Kid's right shoe, _hook, line and sinker_. One heartbeat later, the door falls shut.

Shinichi heads for the back door. It's quite stormy tonight, Kid won't use his glider under these circumstances. Maybe there's still a chance to get him.

* * *

Shinichi uses his skateboard to chase the blinking dot on his glasses. He'd almost caught up with it, for it moves slower than him. Which could mean two different things: either Kid flees by foot or he'd noticed the tracker and placed it on some slow vehicle to mislead him. Shinichi hopes it's the first alternative. The mere thought of catching the self-proclaimed master thief off-guard makes him grin.

But there's something that dampens his anticipation: The feeling of invisible danger is still there, even more intense than before. But _why_? He'd left the museum behind him some minutes ago, and the side streets he's crossing are deserted. Is he just imagining things? Has paranoia gained the upper hand ultimately?

Before he gets the opportunity to seriously question his instincts, a motor sound claims his attention: A single police motorcycle appears on the road behind him. The driver wears a helmet; its mirrored visor reflects the sparse yellowish street light, very similar to a certain monocle that Shinichi knows all too well by now.

His alarm bells start shrilling hysterically, but he has no chance to react. The bike speeds up with howling wheels and in the blink of an eye, it's abreast of his skateboard. The driver turns his head in his direction – Shinichi sees his own reflection swimming in the visor's blackness – cold steel flashes through the night and a shot, camouflaged by a silencer, rips the skateboard under his feet away and the breath out of his lungs.

The world seems to twist –

And then his back hits the ground, the impact squeezes the air out of him again and tosses him forward, across the road, and spots of light are dancing around his head –

He can't move, can't even _breathe_ –

When he finally regains consciousness, he's surrounded by black shapes, and his first thought is: _That's it. Gin and Vodka have come to finish their job.  
_  
The police officer – if he's an officer at all – grabs him under the shoulders and pulls him into an upright position. Shinichi struggles weakly, too numb from pain to actually protect himself, and then the click of a cocked revolver in his right ear freezes him. One of the other men – and now he realizes that their clothes aren't black, but brown (and that they're all armed) picks his still intact glasses from the street and watches the blinking dot that indicates Kid's position (if it's not a stray, that is) with an ugly grin on his face.

"Hey, Kid!" shouts the man who took his glasses. (The man looks vaguely familiar. Has he seen him somewhere before?) "I know you're here! Come out and show yourself, if you don't want us to blow away the brat's skull!"

At this cue, the officer presses the barrel of his revolver painfully against Shinichi's temple. The other men, seven in total, look around the street suspiciously. Nothing happens for a few seconds. Shinichi tries to breathe evenly, tries to blank out the pain, tries to find a way out of this, but he can't even reach his soccer ball belt like this. The familiar looking speaker becomes impatient and points his gun at Shinichi. "I'm serious, Kid! I don't have to kill him immediately, I can start with his legs and arms! I'm going to count to three and when-"

A laugh echoes through the road, chilly and eerie. It seems to come from all sides at once and quite a few of his attackers flinch, startled. The speaker, however, only narrows his eyes and begins to count: "One ... two ..."

Shinichi holds his breath without realizing it.

"Oi, Snake, isn't child abduction out of your league?"

Kid sits on the outer ledge of a first floor window and looks down at them with a strange smile. The dim gleam of the street lamps taints his white suit, throws greyish and yellowish shadows on it. His cape flutters like a flag in the nightly wind. The speaker – Snake – and his men direct their guns at him unanimously, only the policeman keeps his revolver pressed against Shinichi's temple.

"Kid. Fancy meeting you here." There's cruel satisfaction in Snake's voice and Shinichi wonders from where the two know each other. It's obvious – painfully obvious – where this is going. And he can't do a thing. Heck, he doesn't know a thing! Doesn't know about this people and about Kid's connection to them. "Now take off your hat and cape and come down slowly with your hands over your head."

"Let the boy go and I'm coming down."

Shinichi tries to make eye contact with Kid, but Kid's eyes are fixated on Snake.

Snake laughs, then takes a step toward Shinichi and presses his gun against his forehead. "I'm sick of your games! Come down or the boy dies!"

It's as if all of his emotions freeze to ice. Shinichi doesn't feel his pain anymore. Shinichi isn't afraid anymore. He'd banned all these sensations neatly into the back of his consciousness, and the only things that remain are his sharp wit and his observation skills. And Shinichi finds it extremely interesting that the officer's revolver wavers slightly, while Snake's gun lingers firm on his forehead. Apparently, the officer is scared. An important information that might be useful for him later. Because there will be a later, right? Everything else is absolutely impossible. Absolutely impossible.

The diamond ring appears in Kid's hand. "It's pretty cloudy tonight." Kid's voice is as sharp and cold and clear as shattered glass. "What a pity that I could not check the stone already. What if it's the right one?" Kid lifts his own gun, the gun that looks like a silly toy but can be pretty harmful too when it's fired from low distance.

And now, Snake stiffens. _Interesting._

"So, the vital question is …" Kid's voice lowers to a whisper that breezes through the street, but it's still audible and still sharp enough to cause goose bumps. "… is this boy's life more important to me than the diamond to you?"

Snake laughs again, but this time with a strained undertone. "Enough of this nonsense! Come down, or I'll shoot!"

And then, all of a sudden, Kid throws the ring in the air and the time that had progressed painfully slow previously seems to make a jump and instantly passes three times as fast as before.

Snake, caught off guard by this unexpected stunt, spins around and follows the ring's trajectory with his eyes. His men do the same, as if they are one single many-headed creature. Then, as if by a mute signal, all of them jump to the middle of the street, obviously with the intention of intercepting the gem before it crashes to the ground.

The policeman, who has the task of keeping Shinichi in check, doesn't know how to react, his revolver lies loosely in his hand and Shinichi doesn't hesitate any longer. He slams his hand against the edge of his aggressor's wrist, and the officer gasps in shock and drops the weapon. Shinichi lunges at the revolver as if his life depends on it (no exaggeration when he thinks about it). He pulls the silencer off and gives a warning shot into the air.

And then the world around him seems to descent into white: Kid is there, and he lifts Shinichi into the air and pulls his shrunken body flush against his chest, and Shinichi needs to fight the urge to struggle –

He hears Kid's heartbeat, wild and irascible, and his own blood rushes in his ears, and somewhere in the distance, sirens start to wail and Snake shouts something unintelligible –

A muffled shot and Kid hisses in pain, then another shot and a scream of agony, but this time not from Kid –

Kid rips his arm in the air and the night sky is filled with bright colors – he'd fired off a signal rocket –

And then Shinichi finds himself on the ground, there's cold asphalt in his back, and everything around him is black – Kid had spread a tarp over him to disguise his position –

And he hears the silent noises of subdued gunshots and the hissing of erupting gas – _must be_ _Kid's_ _sleeping gas_.

There's no way he stays put in a situation like this. Shinichi lifts the tarp that covers him and looks around to take his surroundings in. He's on the walkway, hidden behind a parked car. He peeks around the car, Kid and his attackers come into his field of vision.

They're shooting at Kid, but he's evading their shots with an almost inhuman speed, prancing around them in a macabre and lethal dance. The sleeping gas flows from a grenade that lies on the middle of the road. The sound of sirens comes closer, the gas covers the ground like fog, some of the attackers are coughing slightly, Shinichi's pressing a handkerchief to his mouth and nose.

He realizes two things at once: One, it would be much easier and safer for Kid to run away, but he makes no move to do so. Because he's trying to stall time and to hinder his assaulters from escaping. Two, this won't work for long. Kid is good at escaping and evading, but he can't overpower so many armed opponents at once, not when they're constantly shooting at him, not even with his gas. Sooner or later, a bullet _would_ hit him.

Conclusion: Shinichi needs to do something.

Of course, the revolver he's still holding in his hand is out of question. He drops it, lets a soccer ball pop out of his belt instead.

Pressing his back against the car, he moves around it until the others come in sight again. He aims for Snake's head, activates his supershoes and _kicks. _To his huge misfortune, Snake moves sideward to evade one of Kid's smoking cards just then and the ball hits the man's shoulder instead of his head – still painful as hell, but not enough to knock the assassin out.

Shinichi observes how the ball hits Snake's shoulder, stifles a curse, produces another ball –

With a cry of pain, the assassin stumbles aside but doesn't fall, he turns around to search for his assaulter, he discovers Shinichi and aims his gun at him –

Kid shouts something and a razor sharp card embeds itself into Snake's gun –

But the other men had noticed Shinichi as well, and Shinichi's forced to jumps behind the car again to take cover from their bullets –

He hears loud swearing, obviously Snake's voice – "I'll get you for that, Kid! Mark my words!" – and the trample of many feet – they're leaving …

When he leaves his cover some seconds later, the men are gone, but Kid is still there, bending over something. _Or someone, _Shinichi realizes with sudden terror.

He approaches Kid and the … silhouette on the ground, just to find his suspicions confirmed. It's the police officer, and a gaping wound in his chest stains the police uniform with blood.

The cry he'd heard before Kid had hidden him behind the car – it must've been his.

Kid pushes the visor up. A chalky white face appears underneath the helmet and Kid makes a strange choking sound. "Takishima-keiji?"

No reaction. No breathing and no pulse either. The man's already dead.

And the sirens come nearer and nearer.

There are thousands of questions circling in Shinichi's head, but when he finally finds his voice again, the one thing he says is "Kid, you have to go now."

But the thief doesn't react, doesn't give any sign of recognition. He's just staring at the dead officer. Of course the idiot has to choose this moment of all times to fall into shock. Shinichi examines the thief more closely. He can't see Kid's face because of the shadows obscuring it, but he spots an injury on his right arm, probably a grazing shot. At this sight, Shinichi remembers his own injuries, and the pain returns, abruptly and without mercy.

"Kid, the police is coming. If you won't go, they'll arrest you!" Shinichi says, louder and more aggressive this time.

This seems to work. Kid snaps out of his paralysis and turns around to face him. The reflection of the lamplight flashes in his monocle, effectively blinding Shinichi, but he gets a glimpse of Kid's other eye for a very short moment, and he's damn sure that the emotion he saw there was unshielded terror.

Despite this, Kid's voice sounds steady and firm, if only a bit exhausted. "What about you?" Kid asks.

And suddenly, another cruel realization hits Shinichi's brain: He'd just witnessed a failed assassination attempt on Kaitou Kid, and the men who'd tried to kill Kid had proved that they're deathly serious. He doesn't know if those guys are as dangerous and coldblooded as the Black Organization, but if they are, chances are high that they will try to eradicate him.

The sirens are very close now.

"It's fine, I can take care of myself!" Shinichi says hastily. "Now go!" _Before I change my mind._

Kid throws an indefinable look at Shinichi and finally disappears in a swirl of white. Just in time, for only a few seconds later a police car runs around the corner with wailing sirens. It stops in front of Shinichi and Nakamori jumps out of the car, a haunted expression on his face. His glare wanders from Shinichi, to the dead cop beside him, and to Shinichi again, his eyes as large as ashtrays. "You again? What the hell ... _What's going on here?"_

_"Waaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"_ Shinichi slips into his _I'm-just-an-innocent-little-boy role_ and starts to cry, his brain working frantically. He can't afford to tell Nakamori _anything_, he has to sweep the truth under the mat as best as he can … he slips his hand into his pocket, fishes for his cell phone and starts to type a message for Jodie-sensei blindly.

"I have pursued Kid, and the Oji-san here helped me, but then there were these _evil_ men and I think … I think … I think they were trying to sell _drugs_, and they wanted to shoot me, but Oji-san has protected me and then Kid helped us, but he could not prevent – waahhhhhh!"

And to be honest, he doesn't need to act that much – as the adrenaline leaves his body, his knees give in automatically, and it isn't hard to sob a little either, because damn it, he almost got killed! (Again.)

(A very cynical part of him processes a very inadequate thought: _Ran won't let me attend Kid-heists for a while._)

* * *

Unfortunately for Nakamori, homicides aren't his domain. He's forced to report the case to the first department, and Chiba-keiji eats the story that Shinichi had cobbled together hastily without any doubt.

And so Takishima Nawaki dies a heroic death – at least in the files.

Like so many other stories concerning Kaitou Kid this one is false-bottomed as well.


End file.
